Some mornings I wonder why I got out of bed. My wife and daughters were away last week visiting my in-laws for the Presidents' Week break. On Thursday I was headed out of town myself, and I would meet up with my three ladies on Friday. I woke up early enough to be able to fit into my day a three-hour indoor training bike ride. Perched upon my bike in my attic/man cave, I focused on the blaring television in front of me, oblivious to the world around me. Until... Until I heard a faint whimpering. At first I thought nothing of the sound in my head, certain it was just the tv. But when it persisted, I muted to volume (which was pumped up to 80- take that, Spinal Tap) to discover that the fire alarm was screaming at me.
Now, maybe I had the wrong mindset, but it never occurred to me that there might be a fire. I figured that our system, which was already on the fritz, was mocking me. The keypad refused my commands to silence the alarm and so I ran into the basement in my bike cleats to manually reset the system. I called the alarm company to assure them that there was no emergency and was frustrated to learn that they had no clue that my house was supposed to be on fire.
5 minutes lost but still enough time to finish my workout. I climbed back aboard my two-wheeled machine and chugged away. Until... Until I heard a faint whimpering. After I went through this drill 3 times, I gave up on my workout, took a quick shower, and awaited the arrival of the alarm technician so I could leave town in peace, knowing that the system was function and that they fire department wouldn't break down the door for nothing.
It turns out there was a bug in the system. Literally. The most expensive insect in Rochester found his way into the smoke alarm and tripped it repeatedly. $200 later, I had myself a dead bug.
It was time to leave for the Buffalo Airport and I ushered Lola, our not-so-housebroken Havanese into her crate. She looked comforted to be back in the protecting walls of what I often call her "bedroom", though probably because I discovered the several gifts she left me on the living room floor. Not exactly the sort of behavior you expect from a showgirl.
I've made the 1 hour drive to the Buffalo Airport at least a dozen times, but still I don't trust my sense of direction without Rachel to guide me. When the GPS told me to get off the NY Thruway I did, even though the exit didn't look familiar. 3 minutes later I was lost. 30 minutes after my anticipated arrival at the airport, I finally pulled into the parking lot.
When my plane landed at my port of entry and I collected my belongings and found the car service that would attempt to shuttle me to my final destination. Falling from the sky was rain that wished it were snow. Moving slowly with the traffic, the driver rear-ended the car before him, and a minute later both drivers pulled off the highway into an emergency/accident zone. The victim's car was unharmed. But the vehicle that would transport me began to smoke. A minute later the hood was up. And it was rush hour. And I was regretting the giant bottle of water I drank in Buffalo. Nearly 90 minutes later a new car picked me up and 3 hours after I opened the first car's door, I made it to where I was going. Normally a 1-hour drive.
My day would have been a whole lot less frustrating if I just stayed in bed. Though I suppose that wouldn't have stopped the alarm from sounding. I sometimes wonder why things happen the way they do. What was the universe trying to tell me last Thursday? Maybe it was as simple as: TURN THE VOLUME DOWN, FOR GOODNESS SAKE! Take off the headphones and the blinders and look around. Listen Notice the world around.
However, 90 minutes stuck in the highway's emergency pull-off was more opportunity to smell the proverbial roses than I wanted, especially when view around me was rush hour traffic struggling through a foggy backdrop.
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